Twitter Adventures
by HHHereComesTrouble
Summary: McMahon-Levesque style. A series of fluffy one-shots inspired by actual tweets...HHH/Steph.
1. Not A Paul Heyman Guy

Welcome to this new, crazy fic that I'm starting, even though I really shouldn't start more fics! But since our golden couple is now on Twitter, I figured I could make an exception. I thought it would be fun to write out some of their reactions to the tweets they receive or see. If you have any specific ones you want to see written out, just let me know. :)

* * *

_Paul Heyman __**HeymanHustle21**_

_"The passion WWE's __**StephMcMahon**__ exudes while tweeting to me is demonstrative of a very frustrated woman. Hmmmmm..."_

* * *

The brawny, blonde haired man narrowed his eyes in part aggravation, part disgust at the tiny screen he held in his palm. He failed to notice how tight he was gripping the damn thing, and would be lucky if the device didn't break into pieces right now. Who the fuck did that balding walrus think he was, anyways? Was it not bad enough that these psychotic fans were already directly tweeting Stephanie about the sexual favors they would like to do for her? Was it not bad enough that men and women both were practically drooling through their computer screens over the goddess that was his wife? Apparently not, because now he had WWE employees jumping on that wagon, as well.

And Paul Heyman, of all people, really! The guy used his wife's name as bait in promos, week in and week out religiously. The script only called for Stephanie mentions like half the time. However, Heyman took things to a whole new level. A personal level. But nope, that clearly wasn't enough to satisfy the prick's filthy appetite. Now he was dragging his not-so-secret Stephanie McMahon fixation onto Twitter, of all places! Slimy bastard.

Paul shifted on the sofa, his eyes still glued to the tweet, as he anxiously awaited the arrival of his wife. She was picking up the girls from various practices and was due back any minute now. He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. Yep, any minute. He wasn't quite certain what exactly he planned to say to her when she walked through the door, but he would likely come up with something. Well, if he didn't flip his shit right away. Who knows, maybe she wasn't aware of the tweet, as her interactions section was always clouded with nonsense from fans. Sometimes the pair of them even ended up tagged in…interesting conversations, to say the least.

You know, the more Paul read into this tweet, the more he became not such a fan of the underlying meaning. Sending a message to Stephanie was one thing, but questioning his abilities to please her as a woman was completely different. And completely unacceptable. He was that damn good in the bedroom, if he did say so himself. His wife's constant screams and moans of pleasure were living proof of that. God, this shouldn't have been irking him as much as it was.

The low rumbling of the opening garage door caused him to spring out of his seat at once. He paced the living room restlessly, waiting for her to enter…with the girls. Shit. He couldn't give this Heyman bullshit its proper, well-deserved rant with the kids present. Things were sure to get explicit and between him and Stephanie, they didn't have enough hands to cover the innocent ears of their young daughters.

"Mommy, what we having for dinner?"

Vaughn's soft, two-year-old voice drew him out of his thoughts. His head jolted in the direction of the carrying sound immediately. He flashed his family a forced smile as they appeared in the living room, while Stephanie looked downwards and ruffled the messy blonde locks of their youngest.

"I don't know yet, sweetie. Let's get settled first and give your sisters a chance to change," she replied. The little girl nodded her head, before letting her stare and mind drift off into space. Meanwhile, Stephanie slowly approached her husband and seeing his displeased features, grew concerned and cautious. She scrunched his face and poked his chest provokingly. "Hey. What's up with you, grumpy?"

"Nothing," he said, simply shrugging. Nope, he wasn't going to go off about this in front of their kids. He was more mature than that, he would hope. Twitter was such a silly, little thing…right?

Such a silly, little thing that appeared to be consuming his every thought and well, his life for the past hour. Fuck, he should have known better than to unleash this beauty standing before him on a social media site. The crazies and creeps were always drawn to her. Everyone was drawn to her. She was _her_.

"You're lying," Stephanie pointed out, poking his chest yet again. "Tell me or I'll punish you..._hard_."

She was biting her bottom lip, so pleased with herself obviously. He, on the other hand, was still dwelling over the remark made about their love life.

"Daddy, you should listen to Mommy," Murphy spoke up from the living room, still wearing her baby pink tutu. "When I get punished, I have to sit in time-out in the corner and it isn't very fun. I don't think you would like it very much."

He couldn't help but smile at their middle child, temporarily relieving some of his irritation.

"Take our daughter's advice, baby," Stephanie chuckled before briefly pausing. Paul turned his attention to his wife, who now had her arms folded over her chest. "So are you gonna tell me what's bothering you, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"Maybe you _are_ a frustrated woman, Steph."

Bewildered, the brunette raised her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

"Here," Paul muttered under his breath, handing her his phone where the tweet was still pulled up.

He watched Stephanie's blue eyes scan the screen and eventually grow wide. As she gave him the phone back, her lips were slowly upturning into an amused grin. Within a moment, her uncontrollable laughter soon echoed throughout the living room. She was…laughing? She thought this was funny. His wife thought this was fucking hilarious while he had been wallowing in misery all day.

Paul pointed to the screen abruptly and partly shouted, "_This _is not a laughing matter, Stephanie!"

"What is it, Mom?" Aurora inquired, peeking over her mother's shoulder to try and see the source of this commotion. Even standing on her tiptoes, she was still too short to see anything and now sported a tiny pout. "I wanna see!"

Murphy and Vaughn both ran over curiously.

"Me too, me too!"

"What's so funny, Mommy?"

"Nothing's funny, girls," Paul stated seriously while Stephanie's giggling finally started to die down.

"I don't know what's more priceless, _that_ tweet, or the rise it's getting out of you, baby."

"Tweet?" Aurora questioned. "Can I see the tweet?"

"No."

"Sure."

The parents looked to each other instantly, Stephanie wearing a carefree expression and her husband wearing a…not-so-carefree one of his own. Did she not comprehend how highly inappropriate this was? A grimy man implying that they had a less than satisfying sex life should not result in rib-aching laughter. He didn't think it was funny at all. And he certainly wasn't going to promote this kind of shit to their daughters.

"Why won't anyone say what happened?" Murphy pondered. "I'm confused."

"Babies, Daddy is just angry because a man…"

"Walrus," Paul corrected spitefully.

Rolling her eyes at the immaturity in his tone, she continued on.

"A walrus sent a message to Mommy on the internet," she concluded.

Now, Paul and Stephanie were met with three wide-eyed stares.

"Like a _real_ walrus?" Aurora asked, almost stunned by the fact that her mom could communicate with animals…on her phone! Cool!

"No, Rory," Paul replied. "Paul Heyman...the human walrus."

"Is he the fat one?"

While Stephanie burst out into silent laughter in the background, Paul nodded and said, "That's him."

A momentary stillness occupied the room before Stephanie parted her lips to speak.

"Okay, girls, why don't you go change and wash up for dinner?"

They all nodded reluctantly, before chasing one another up the stairs. Relieved, Stephanie blew out a puff of air. If she didn't tame this conversation now, they would be here all night, conversing about Twitter, walruses, and whatever the hell else. And as much as she loved those enthralling chats, she could think of about a million better ways to spend her time.

Still, she found it quite adorable that Paul was getting so worked up over nothing…in her defense, of course. On TV, even though it was all scripted, her husband losing his shit on her behalf was always flattering. More times than not, whether she be at home or backstage, a light blush stained her cheeks as he beat the hell out of whomever was insulting her. God, what a crazy world they were a part of!

"Now I'm curious to know what 'passionate' tweets you were sending Heyman, hmmm?"

Stephanie placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head to one side, wholeheartedly amused. Her husband was going to be the death of her.

"Oh. My. God. You are not letting this go, are you? This really bothers you, doesn't it, honey?" His lack of a response confirmed what she already suspected was the truth. A snarky grin formed on her lips involuntarily. "I really wouldn't want to be Heyman right now."

They both held a short gaze before simultaneously surrendering to a fit of laughter.

"When would you _ever_ want to be Heyman?"

"Well-played," she chuckled. "But seriously, you shouldn't let that tweet get to you. Heyman's an idiot. I'm sure it won't be the last sexual innuendo I receive from him. Twitter is Twitter, we knew what we signed up for going into all of this. Besides, you know how much I enjoy playing the _game_."

Paul refused to meet eyes with her, but had to concentrate fairly hard to bite back his expanding smile. She was such a tease, this woman. Here she was hushing those comments of hers, all while wrapping her arms around his neck, her body pressing against his.

Oh fuck it, maybe she was right. He was getting riled up over ridiculous nonsense. Suddenly, the jab at his husband abilities was irrelevant and forgotten. At least until later, when he contradicted that tweet with his actions. Right now though, he had this beautiful, witty, evidently not frustrated woman in his arms and wasn't going to let another second pass before doing what he did best. Paul finally turned his head to face her and fused his mouth with hers in a long, passionate kiss, stealing her breath away like he always did.

As they broke apart, gasping for oxygen, he leaned his forehead against hers and said, "What's a game without someone to play it?"


	2. Bad Mamma

Okay, so I'm sure you've all seen this "bad mamma" tweet by now – the one that practically killed off most, if not all the HHH/Steph fangirls. Anyways, I got talked into writing a smut piece based on it…by the usual suspects, of course. So yeah, if you don't like smut, you probably want to avoid this one lol, and for the rest of you perverts, I hope you enjoy! :D

* * *

_Triple H __**TripleH**_

_**StephMcMahon**__ is one bad mamma_

_ #Article/2013/03/21/wwe-stephanie-mcmahon-boxing-d rill-video... _

* * *

With a delicious smirk already forming on his face, Paul pressed the "tweet" button and watched the number of favorites and retweets skyrocket almost instantaneously. It was beyond him how so many people could view the post before he even had the chance to take a single breath. Yeah, he had been on this crazy site for a quite a bit now, but it was still slightly overwhelming at times. He was beginning to think that his followers either signed in at the most convenient of times or stalked and refreshed his page constantly. It was probably the latter of the two, judging by the people he had witnessed in his interactions, thus far.

However, when he posted this particular tweet, he had someone else in mind in regards to eliciting a reaction. The corners of his mouth twitched upward at the thought. A certain blue-eyed brunette who recently revealed to the world what a badass boxer she was.

Peering to the other side of the meeting table, Paul noticed her sitting, one leg crossed over the other, as she shifted through a stack of papers. He poked his tongue through his teeth and wetted his dry lower lip. Fuck. He wasn't supposed to be having these stirrings at work, especially not during a meeting. He was an executive. She was an executive. They were…_colleagues_. In his defense though, that tight, black pencil skirt she was currently sporting didn't help matters whatsoever. Stephanie was such an intentional tease. She didn't wear that kind of revealing shit unless she was looking to toy with his…manhood, so to speak. He shifted awkwardly in his seat and continued to drown out the hoarse, monotonous voice of his father-in-law.

He turned his head out of curiosity. Everyone else in the room seemed rather bored out of their minds, too. At least they were pretending to be paying attention though. Some better than others, but hey, it was the effort that counted. Meanwhile, here he was ogling at the head honcho's daughter and trying to tame a growing bulge simultaneously. A distraction was crucial right now.

Instantly, his eyes fell upon Stephanie's cell phone sitting on the table, still untouched and unmoved since he had tweeted. Paul reached for his own device and composed a new text message, his fingers furiously tapping away at the tiny keys. Okay, he could have a bit of fun with this…

_Check Twitter, babe. ;)_

He sent the text and waited.

A low buzzing against the mahogany table filled the otherwise quiet room seconds later. All eyes flashed in his wife's direction as she quickly snatched the phone up, a light blush now staining her cheeks. Vince reprimanded his daughter with a scolding stare, before briefly directing his gaze at her all but innocent husband.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Paul grinned wickedly. If this was making her blush, he could hardly wait to see her face when she read the actual tweet. Little things like that drew such a reaction out of her and he still couldn't fathom why. He and Stephanie had known each other for what seemed like forever, so she was of course accustomed with his snarky, taunting behavior by now. Yet such trivial things set her off. He couldn't lie though. He absolutely loved that about her and wouldn't trade that quality for the world.

Stephanie examined the text and pursed her lips conspicuously, knowing that her husband's eyes were glued to her at this very moment. God, she should have guessed that idiot was up to something, what with the way he had been gawking at her for the past ten minutes. And now she was apparently supposed to check Twitter, per the advice of her darling husband. The winky face emoticon following his message made her a bit skeptical, truthfully. The man was visibly up to no good. Dammit, if he was posting photos of her on Twitter without her knowledge, there _would_ be hell to pay.

In spite of the gaze he held upon her face, Stephanie couldn't contain her own curiosity. This meeting was boring her to tears anyways, and it wasn't like her father was droning on about anything relevant. Shouting usually clued her in that the topic was of importance. A regular tone pretty much meant she could tune in and out as she pleased. Plus, her husband's text was all too intriguing and mischievous to push to the back of her mind.

She found and opened the Twitter app on her phone, but it didn't take much scrolling down her timeline to come across her husband's most recent tweet. A cheeky, dorky smile crossed her face as she read it over a few times in her head. Why did she find this so flattering and amusing at the same time? And why did she have a gut feeling that these "bad mamma" implications went beyond her boxing abilities? Honestly, if she weren't sitting in the middle of a room filled with corporate executives and not to mention her father, she would be giggling like an idiot. Hell, she could already feel her face flooding with heat and that was an involuntary reaction.

Her phone buzzed again, only this time the noise went about unnoticed since the device wasn't against a hard surface. Smiling to herself, she opened the text message.

_You like?_

Automatically, Stephanie's head shot up and she was grateful to find her husband staring right back at her. Wearing that infamous smirk of hers, she shook her head back and forth leisurely, in mock disapproval.

On the other side of the table, Paul was trying frantically to suppress the sensations her gesture was creating inside of him. For some reason, he just couldn't get her out of his thoughts today. Maybe it was that damn boxing video that had gone viral earlier this morning. Everyone on Twitter _and_ in the office was talking about it. Fuck, even TMZ got a hold of the damn thing and was broadcasting it all over their site! _Stephanie McMahon Is a Terrifyingly Good Boxer. _The headlines still left him chuckling to no end. The fact that his wife could kick ass on top of having both beauty and brains just made him that much more attracted to her. He was actually dying to know if Stephanie could beat him up, and once this meeting was over, he planned to give the woman a run for her money…

* * *

"Bad mamma? Really, Paul?"

With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he casually shrugged, his eyes fixated on her as she entered the room.

"Yeah, did you like it?" he prompted with a smidge of enthusiasm.

"I swear you want me to kill you."

"Don't lie," he hushed, inching himself closer to her. "You loved it, McMahon."

"I hate you," she spat.

"You _love_ me."

She arched an eyebrow. Playing along was far too irresistible. "If love is a synonym for hate, then yes."

"Are you going to punish me?" he pondered.

"I should, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, you should, preferably with a few of your boxing tactics…or in some other physical way," he proposed, topping off his suggestion with a wink.

Stephanie fought the overpowering urge to smirk and replied, "Or I could just block you on Twitter."

Even he laughed at that one. Stubbornness pulsated through the woman's veins, but he wouldn't let that stop him.

"Now, now, dear," Paul began, a teasing glint in his stare. "Let's just consider all of the other names I've called you in the past and be thankful I went with that one. I actually had a few others I was considering that would have been not so…innocent."

Stephanie parted her lips to convey a sharp retort, but jerked her head at the sound of a throat being cleared. Of course it was her father. Of all people to walk in at this time, of course it had to be him. Then again, she did have to remind herself that it was _his_ office they currently occupied.

"I, errr, hope I'm not interrupting anything," Vince stated, looking from Paul to Stephanie, eyeing them each with evident suspicion.

Really, her dad had the most impeccable timing when it concerned walking in on encounters that could easily turn awkward. She couldn't even recall the countless number of times he paraded himself right into a dirty banter battle or a heated make-out session. More times than not, she had to avoid him for the next day or two just to let the unease die away. But seriously, where the fuck was her dad when she and Paul were simply watching TV or doing other normal person, non-sexual shit?

Oh well, at least things never stayed awkward for long.

"As a matter of fact," Stephanie started, "we were just discussing how my gracious, wonderful husband over here has been saying things about me on Twitter." She glared at the guilty party momentarily before smiling in her father's direction. "You didn't happen to see any tweets about me, did you, Daddy?"

The elder man scrunched his face in disbelief and confusion.

"Me? Twitter? Fuck if I know how to use that shit!" he all but shouted, flailing his arms above his head for emphasis. Paul sniggered. Even now, despite having an account of his own, the old man was still oblivious to all things social media. Yet that didn't prevent him from promoting the hell out of Twitter on television every week. "Anyways, what did Paul say about you?"

"Why don't you tell him yourself, honey?" she proposed.

A careless shrug was his response.

"Yeah, okay. I said that Stephanie is…**"**

"Actually," Vince interjected, slowly stepping back, "I've often followed the principle that some things are left best unsaid…so, disregard my asking…please. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few things to take care of…anywhere but here…"

The couple watched in amused silence as Vince retreated to the exit of his own office, leaving them alone once again. Playfully, Paul nudged her in the side.

"I think we scared him away, Steph. Are we really _that_ bad?"

Stephanie's eyes flickered to her husband's as she affirmed, "I'm not. But you? Most definitely."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," he hushed, closing the distance between himself and the door. His facial expression was unreadable for the most part, but there was an underlying hint of desire apparent in his features. She didn't try to deny what his intentions were, but the sound of the door locking without a doubt confirmed them. She felt her knees go weak and her heartbeat quicken as he approached her slowly. They were not in her father's office. Nope. Not at all. And he was most certainly not backing her into the very desk her_ dad_ worked at every day. Nope, nope, nope. This wasn't happening. "So what do you say, Steph?" he whispered, lightly blowing against her earlobe. His hot breath tickled her skin and suddenly, all thoughts of her dad were lost on her. "How about you show me how _bad _you really are…_mamma_?"

Oh, dear lord. She didn't know if this was the dorkiest or sexiest way to initiate things, but…she…liked it. A lot, actually.

Stephanie was not given an opportunity to reply as Paul leaned down into her at once, capturing her lips in an impassioned kiss. He moved his fingertips in delicate, unhurried paths down her sides, until his hands settled to rest upon her hips. With more aggression, he drew her body into his, and her instinctive response was to wrap her arms around his neck, deepening the fusion between their mouths. Stephanie moaned faintly as her tongue engaged in a heated battle for dominance with his. Her hips bucked against his upper thighs, and she soon found herself being pushed up onto the desk behind her. She removed one of her arms from around her husband's neck and blindly swept away a bunch of the random shit that was on the hard surface beneath her. A heap of papers and files went flying in any and every direction, but as expected, the two of them were outright oblivious to the movement.

When the need for oxygen eventually became unbearable, they separated. Stephanie was even able to catch a quick glimpse of her husband's now open eyes. Pure lust encompassed his darkening pupils. She knew that her orbs undoubtedly matched his in hue, for she was trying to cope with the same sensations. Every nerve ending in her body was awake and alive, her need for him intensifying by the second.

Within moments, Paul resumed kissing her, only this time he was trailing his skilled lips and tongue down her neck, paying extra attention to her sweet spot. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin, reveling in the sound of her soft whimpers. Lightly tossing her head back in delight, Stephanie dropped her hands from his shoulders and gripped the edge of the desk. She enveloped the wood in her hands like it would kill her if she didn't. Hell, maybe it would. Her husband was hardly touching her and yet, that familiar burning feeling was already present between her thighs. Her flesh was throbbing – _aching_ for attention and only her husband's touch could quell that desire. She was dying here…but it was a good, welcomed kind of death. In the meantime, his digits were fumbling with the buttons of her dark blazer as he continued his heavy assault on her throat and collarbone.

Paul effortlessly freed her of the garment before guiding the straps of her white undershirt off her shoulders as well. Stephanie raised her arms and allowed him to pull it off over her head. He moved his mouth to the now exposed skin, sucking it gently between his lips and teeth. He needed to taste her, anywhere and everywhere. His mouth belonged on her body. Every part of her body.

With one hand, he unhooked the clasp of her white, lacy bra and watched it drop to the floor. Now entirely exposed, Stephanie arched her back and moaned upon feeling her husband cup one breast in his large palm. He squeezed it slightly, causing her to wince. For a few moments, he admired her from afar, allowing his eyes take in every inch of her, including the look of pure satisfaction on her face. His gaze dropped down to her breasts, one of which he was currently kneading with his fingers, gently grazing his thumb over the erect nipple. Another soft moan. Seriously though, his wife was a goddess. Everything about her was beautiful and they weren't even at his favorite part yet. From the curves of her body to the sounds she made as he touched her, Paul just didn't have words to describe the things this woman did to him.

"Paul," Stephanie whimpered.

Her blue orbs connected with his hazel ones, but not for long. He quickly lowered his head to the breast he wasn't cupping in his hand and covered the nipple with his mouth. His lips enclosed around the stiff bud, his teeth lightly grinding against it. Gripping the desk harder, Stephanie gasped sharply and arched her back even more, to the point where she was driving her chest into his face. God, she loved his touch more than anything. She simply could not get enough. Nope, not ever. She craved it all the time, in fact. Hastily, he moved his mouth and left a trail of kisses over her sternum, until he reached the other breast with plans to give it an equal amount of attention. But the one place she needed him more than anywhere else was still covered – blocked off by a barrier of clothing – but growing moister with each second that passed.

In spite of the weakness that was starting to overcome her, Stephanie was able to undo the buttons of his pale blue dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and eventually onto the floor. She raked her fingertips down his body, enjoying the feel of his chest hair against her hands. She honest to God needed him now, but she could hold out a little longer if it meant being a tease in the process. Paul had challenged her to show him how _bad_ she really was? Well, she was going to give him just that.

When she finally reached the waistband of his pants, she began toying with the buckle of his belt, but doing so in a way that was painfully slow. She was going to drag this out until she was humanly incapable anymore. Paul hissed under as he felt her forearm rub against his crotch and retracted his mouth from her breast. She didn't meet his gaze, but instead slowly slipped the belt out of each loop, one by one, in no absolutely no rush at all. Frustrated, Paul grabbed her wrists, giving her no choice but to look up at him.

She tilted her head to one side, eyeing him curiously.

"Are you _trying_ to kill me, woman?" he spat. She leisurely dropped her stare to the evidence of his frustration, then directed it back at his face. Paul scrunched his brow. He parted his lips to add on, but was silenced as Stephanie pressed her index finger to his lips.

With her other hand, she carefully bunched her skirt around her waist, exposing her thighs and thong. Her husband's wide eyes were instantly drawn to her spreading legs, taking in the sight and anticipating her next move. Even if her finger wasn't preventing him from talking, he would still be at a loss for words. His mouth was suddenly very dry, or maybe it was dry all along and he just had failed to realize it. Either way, his heart was pounding in his throat and a light perspiration already stained the back of his neck.

Stephanie bit back her smirk as she removed her digit from his lips and brought it down to the scrap of lace shielding her most intimate of areas. She ran her tongue along her upper lip as she slowly began to massage her core through the material, closing her eyes and wincing quietly. She was so wet right now and he could actually see the moisture seeping through her panties. Fuck, was this her idea of getting back at him for that tweet earlier? Because if so, he would gladly remove the damn thing and put an end to this torture.

"Oh, Paul," she whined as she continued to rub herself through the fabric.

God, this woman…this woman, he hated her so much. He hated her and loved her and really, he just wanted to bend her over this desk and thrust himself inside of her repeatedly. He closed his eyes upon hearing her moan again, his name falling from her lips again. She _knew_ how weak this made him. Inside, she was snickering wickedly at his impatience. When he at last mustered enough strength to open his eyes, he saw her pushing the lace to the side, revealing her most sensitive area.

"Come here."

She beckoned him with a crooked finger, and he had no choice but to move closer to her, not that he was complaining. Not at all. He was essentially in a trance of some sort, mesmerized by this magnificent human being before him, despite having seen all of her before. Maybe it was the danger factor that captivated him…the fact that they were here in her father's office, partaking in intense foreplay and not to mention Stephanie aggressively touching herself on the old goat's desk. Fuck, if this wasn't risky, he didn't know what was anymore. The door may have been locked, but his wife had a tendency to be…not so quiet during these types of activities. That was perfectly okay though. He rather enjoyed hearing her scream his name at the top of her lungs.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Stephanie brought her finger back up to his mouth.

"Open," she instructed. Paul raised his brows, somewhat perplexed.

"Wha…"

"Just open," she reiterated, cutting him off abruptly.

Paul parted his lips as she slipped her index finger inside, and then he closed down around her slender digit, sucking on it…swirling his tongue around it. Tasting her came natural to him. She removed her now wet finger, and God, he should have known. She lowered it down to her exposed center and began to rub her flesh in a circular motion, at first slowly, but then picking up the pace vigorously. Her face was scrunched in pure concentration as she furiously massaged her clit. He should have enjoyed watching this, and he so would have, if he wasn't dying inside.

Oh, fuck it. He approached the desk and hovered over her, for she was now lying flat on her back against the wood. Stephanie seemed so focused…so wrapped up in what she was doing, but as soon as he grabbed her wrist, her eyes shot open, wide with bewilderment.

"You're good, baby…" Paul whispered, leaning down close to her face. With force, he pinned her wrist to the desk. He slowly moved his unoccupied hand down to her entry and rubbed it over her clit once…but only once. Completely desperate for more, Stephanie whined until feeling her husband's hot breath on her face. She was greeted with a sinful smirk. "But I'm better."

And with that being said, he went to work with his hand. Stephanie tensed up almost instantly, gripping his shoulders and holding on for dear life. Her clit was so hot…so moist right now that she was practically numb. Paul kissed the column of her throat tenderly, only merely her desire. She needed this. She needed to feel her husband inside of her, her walls surrounding him. Not later, but now.

"I need you," Stephanie insisted in between her moans. "Paul…" she cried. Pulling away, he removed his belt and undid the zipper of his trousers. Truthfully, he shouldn't have been willing to oblige with her needs this quickly, what with all the torture _he_ was forced to endure. But that was just it. He could only take so much, and he needed her now probably just as much as she needed him. No more waiting or taunting each other or stalling. This needed to happen now or he was going to burst. He freed his length at once, pushing both his pants and boxers partially down his thighs. There was no reason to waste another second with trying to fully step out of them.

Paul was about to guide himself towards her entry when all of a sudden, Stephanie flipped herself over and outright crawled to the center of the desk on all fours. She gestured for him to join her. Instinct told him to question her sanity or kindly remind her that this was her dad's desk, but he decided against it upon seeing the seriousness in her stare.

He sincerely loved that she didn't give two shits about where they were.

"Fuck," he muttered, as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the remaining articles of clothing.

Still a bit hesitant, he climbed up onto the surface of the desk and moved himself so that he was behind her, positioned upright on his knees. His persistent longing for her overshadowed any residual reluctance though. Placing his hands on her hips, Paul slipped his length inside her, groaning as he did so. Ever since early this morning, he had been anticipating this moment and yes, it was so worth the wait.

They quickly fell into a steady rhythm of Paul thrusting himself inside of her and Stephanie slamming her ass against his thighs. The only sounds filling the room for the next hour were their labored breaths and her frequent screams, as they lost themselves in each other entirely...

* * *

Walking down the corridor of the building, Stephanie straightened her skirt and cleared her throat nervously. She squeezed her husband's hand, her palms clammy against his.

"Would you calm down? We just had sex, we didn't murder anyone."

The brunette stopped in her tracks instantly. Vigorously, she turned to face her husband, her face stricken with horror.

"Don't…say…that…word!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Sex?" he inquired, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"HUSH!"

Realizing how loud she had actually screamed, Stephanie spun on her heel, searching for anyone who she might have caused a disturbance. And with just her luck, the one person approaching them from behind happened to be the one and only Vincent Kennedy McMahon. He stopped upon reaching them.

"Sup, Vince?"

Stephanie turned to her husband, silently scolding him for the casual greeting.

"What?" he mouthed.

"Oh, I'll tell you what's up…" Vince began, in typical Vince fashion. "I walked into my office to find it completely trashed! Papers, files, pens…_shit _everywhere! If someone thinks they're being funny by pulling a prank on the boss, I can assure them that their ass will be _fiiiiiiiiired_!"

Paul's eyes looked everywhere but at Vince as he let out a simple, "Um," before receiving a brutal slap to the bicep at the hands of Stephanie. She stared him down viciously – an unspoken warning for him to shut his mouth right now. Chuckling, he muttered, "Such a bad mamma."


	3. RAW Aftermath

Okay, so I know the whole concussion thing was a part of the storyline and real-life Trips is obviously fine, but I sort of wrote this out as if it _did_ happen in real-life, therefore I use his real name. So I guess you could say this chapter is more fictional than the others since I made all of this up. The first part of this is just taken from what they showed in that WWE App Exclusive. I didn't want to make it a separate one-shot, so I thought it would be fine if I just used the WWE tweet and posted it as a part of this fic. Hope everyone who reads enjoys. :)

* * *

_WWE Universe __**WWEUniverse **_

_As we go off the air for #RAW, doctors continue to tend to __**TripleH**__ at ringside. Stay tuned to __**WWE **__for updates on The Game's condition._

To put it simply, he felt like he wasn't in his own head.

* * *

His entire body felt hot and fatigued, his limbs throbbed with intolerable ache, and if he jolted his head just a bit too quickly, he grew inexplicably faint in that next moment. Light and noise were also vexing and that was abnormal for him especially. Even if for the slightest second his gaze inadvertently darted to the arena lights, he would start to feel his eyes rolling back into his head, his body slowly surrendering itself to that place you go when you slip away from reality. And in any other instance, he would have been appreciative of the deafening roar of the crowd, the ovation in his honor, but not tonight. Tonight, that was all too much to handle. Plus, in addition to that, trainers were bombarding him with an endless string of questions, asking him to name the day, asking him who he was, what he could last recall, and so on.

All sets of eyes in the building were fixated on him, almost like they were anticipating a moment where everything would sort of click and that he would pop up good as new like Taker did just when you thought he'd met his demise. Well, he knew that was most certainly not going to happen, not in his current condition anyways. Therefore, he simply sipped at his water and blinked frantically in hopes that he would open his eyes one of these times to find that none of this was actually happening.

But that was just it, this all _was_ happening. It was so surreal, and he hated it with every fiber in his battered body.

"Nah, let me get out of here," he finally mumbled in frustration, disregarding one of the trainer's inquiries.

Unhurriedly, Paul made it to his feet, and though he was totally out of it by now, the cheering audience was hard not to notice. For the shortest second, he almost smiled. He was mostly relieved to be getting out of this chaotic environment in all honesty. With various referees and trainers surrounding him, the journey to the back was a slow, unsteady one, and he even had to pause a few times to collect himself before taking another stride. After acknowledging the crowd with a mere wave of the hand, he vanished into the back, behind the curtain and out of sight of the cameras…

* * *

"Oh my God, oh my God…"

"Steph, you need to calm down, sweetie. Everything will be okay, it always is," the older man reassured her. He rubbed her back soothingly in an attempt to pacify her nerves, but that still didn't stop her from looking like she was on the verge of tears. "Steph, please don't get yourself all worked up."

"I can't help it, Dad!" the brunette argued, flailing her arms in the air hopelessly. "You know how I can't help but worry about him, and you saw him on the monitor, too, Daddy. He looked so dazed and confused, like he didn't know what was even going on. He really had to think about those questions they were asking him. I've never seen him that bad before. Through every concussion, every injury, he's always carried himself with all the confidence in the world regardless of how he was truly feeling. This time, he seemed so unsure, like he didn't know if he would be okay and…and…"

"Come here, Steph," Vince hushed, ready to envelope her in his arms as she collapsed into them willingly, the tears now rolling down her cheeks at a rapid pace. He sighed softly. Nothing he could do would make this better, for the only thing Stephanie needed right now was to see her husband doing much better than he had been earlier. She needed to be held in _his _arms, not her father's.

"How much longer?"

"Soon," he replied. "They probably just need to finish up with checking his vitals and whatnot."

"It's that serious?" Stephanie wondered, another round of waterworks seemingly imminent at this moment.

"That's just their basic, routine stuff, which you should know better than anyone, Steph. Everything will be fine, I promise. Just try to relax, alright?"

"I can try, I guess. It's just…been awhile since I've had to go through this kind of thing, that's all," she sniffed.

So as they waited, rather impatiently in her case, Stephanie came to the conclusion that it would benefit everybody if she could calm herself down before going in to see her husband. She didn't want to somehow set him off by walking in as an emotional mess, because she did see him out there, and what she told her father was nothing but the truth. He appeared unusually diffident in demeanor, which was so unlike him, and she hated the thought of it, but it almost looked as if the damage wasn't exclusively physical. When they asked him the day, there was an elongated delay before he finally answered. _Monday? _The word still echoed like new in her head, causing her fret to escalate more than it should have. Paul had said it like a question, like he needed someone to confirm that what he was presuming was actually true, because he earnestly didn't know.

"You ready to see him?"

Stephanie's head shot up instantaneously as the voice severed her thoughts. Before them stood the company doctor, the same one that hadn't cleared Paul to compete this evening. He flashed a warm smile in her direction.

"Yes," she stammered out. In spite of waiting for what seemed like an eternity, she was pretty positive there was no way to ever be fully "ready" for this moment. How was she expected to prepare? Cry out all of her tears until her ducts were dry as a desert? Worry until her mind was numb and unable to function?

Well, in that case, she'd already done both, so she should have been good to go.

"Okay…" the doctor began, his voice trailing off apprehensively. Stephanie started to walk towards the room she knew her husband occupied, one foot in front of the other, but a firm hand on her shoulder impeded her progression. "Stephanie, I just want to make sure that you know he…won't be himself right now."

"As expected," she chuckled wryly.

"Right, but please don't be alarmed by anything he says or does, that's all I ask. Paul aggravated something that was already there from last night, and right now the worst of it is obviously going to show. After thorough assessment, we're going to treat this like any other concussion – with lots of bed rest and taking it easy. The good news is I expect him to be acting like himself by the morning after a good night's sleep, of course."

"Good," Stephanie said, simply because she wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. There was so much to let sink in, and she wanted to reserve that for another time. The only thing prevalent in her thoughts right now was seeing Paul. Consequently, she continued in her path to his room, the voices of the doctor and her father fading behind her as they became more distant.

When she reached the door, it was already left partially ajar, so she lingered there for a moment, taking in the scene before her little by little. Paul, still wearing his trunks and pads, was lying flat on his back on the examination table. His massive chest was rising and falling at a dwindling speed, so she wasn't quite sure if he had conked out or not. But it was definitely encouraging to see that he had left behind that panicky, unnerved state, for that was nothing like him at all. Paul was always the one to maintain composure when anything relatively severe happened to him, and that was far from the case tonight.

Cautiously, Stephanie entered the room and silently clicked the door shut behind her. She was careful to keep her footsteps soundless as she padded her way over to where her husband was, because if he was really sleeping, the last thing she wanted to do was disturb him after the night he'd endured.

She noticed there was a chair already pulled out beside him, and she had to assume it was left there for her specifically. So after a few moments of scanning him with her eyes once she was seated, Stephanie extended her hand to brush his forearm gently with her fingertips. His skin was still stained with residual sweat, but hey, she was just grateful that it was sweat and not blood. She'd been there, done that, and it certainly wasn't her favorite thing to experience, not that she was enjoying this either though.

Seconds later, his eyelids fluttered open, and she could tell by the way they involuntarily twitched that the light would be a nuisance for the time being. She drew her hand back slowly, fearful that her touch may startle him. Paul, in response, turned his neck only a little and allowed his eyes to migrate to her face, trying desperately to focus on it, for it seemed he couldn't focus on anything as of late.

"Hey," she said softly, and when he didn't answer, but just continued to stare at her with that blank expression, her heart sank. The doctor had warned her he may not be himself, but she really hoped it wasn't _this_ bad. "Paul, you…you do…remember me, right?"

She hated asking it, but she had to.

Tenderly, Paul grabbed her hand, intertwined her trembling fingers with his stable ones, and placed their joined hands on the table. "You're not an easy person to forget," he retorted, and she was pleased to hear that he not only knew who she was, but that he spoke in a joking manner as well.

"I try," Stephanie teased, but her features softened as she watched him struggle to roll onto his side. He groaned audibly, causing her to lips to mold into a small frown. "But in all seriousness, how are you feeling?" she asked, touching his cheek affectionately.

"Better now that you're here," he murmured. "I swear to God if someone shines another light in my eyes or asks me to say my own name again, I'm gonna…"

"Shhhh," she interjected, sealing his lips with her index finger. "You're not going to do anything because they're only trying to help, just like the doc was only trying to help when he suggested you not wrestle tonight. But oh, no, my forever stubborn husband refused to hear any of it and started dishing out threats as he continued to tape up his wrists for the match."

Paul shook his head disapprovingly. "Wow, that guy sounds like a real jerk."

"Not a jerk," Stephanie clarified. "Just very adamant on getting his way…and as for scaring the living shit out of his wife, he's quite skilled in that department, too."

Vaguely exhaling, Paul lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles delicately, his unspoken apology to her. Sometimes he just got so caught up in the moment, so fired up that he completely forgot what he would be putting his family through, Steph especially. Of course she's used to him working the occasional pay-per-view and such, but tonight was a rarity. As everyone kept stressing, he hadn't wrestled on Raw in over three years, and evidently tonight was not the night to terminate that streak.

"I'm sorry," he told her because he wanted her to hear it anyways. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were just being…_you_," she laughed, poking his chest accusingly. It did make her a bit giddy inside at the fact that he was giving her a verbal apology though. He wasn't the type to get all sappy, but at this point, he had already broken most of his own man laws thanks to her, so there was no value in holding back. A mischievous grin spread across her face while she squeezed his hand to get his attention. "But hey, on the bright side, now I get to play nurse all around the house until you're better."

His eyes brightened at once as her favorite smirk of his appeared on his face. "Is there an outfit involved? Preferably a tight one that doesn't cover a lot of skin?"

"Oh my God, and to think I was worried you wouldn't remember who I am."

"Oh, I remember, honey. I remember _everything_ about you," Paul informed her as he blatantly allowed his eyes to wander over her body, drinking in every inch of her. "But back to this nurse gimmick now. I think it would be a hazard for me to do things on my own with this concussion since it's pretty serious, you know? Like for example, showering and…"

"Would you stop!" she giggled, slapping his bicep playfully.

"You're blushing," he pointed out.

"How is this anything new?" Watching intently as he rubbed at his head, Stephanie's eyes then flickered over to a countertop where she spotted what she was looking for. Within moments, she returned to his side with an ice pack in hand. "Do you want to try sitting up now?"

"Yeah."

She aided him in maneuvering his body into an upright position, allowing him to use her for leverage, balance, and whatever else he needed really. After seeing that the change in position didn't trigger vertigo or anything of that nature, she held the cold pack to his head where he had been massaging it prior. His facial features showed that it brought instant relief, and he even smiled a tiny bit.

"Better?"

Paul nodded. "Yes, thank you. See, you really do have so much nursing potential. I think you missed the boat on your true calling, Steph."

"Alright, well, I'll leave you to your little…_fantasies_ while I do something productive and go retrieve your clothes from your locker room. Can't have my injured baby walking around half naked, can we now?"

"Of course not," he replied. "That's your job."

"Watch it, husband," Stephanie seethed.

She lowered her head to press a goodbye peck to his lips for a short second, but somehow it turned into a long, languid kiss because short kisses simply did not exist in their world. She reveled in the feel of her mouth fused with his, and as she did, something came to mind that she had been meaning to bring up all night. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss, leaving Paul perplexed and breathless as a result.

"Why did you stop? I was enjoying that…"

"I was too," she told him as he furrowed his brow. This was a touchy subject, and she hated making Paul feel like she was forcing him to do anything, but they had to address this as some point…so why not now? "It's just…well, how much longer do you think you'll keep this up?"

"Keep what up?" he questioned, bewildered because he actually didn't know what it was she was referring to. Whatever it was though, it was putting her at unease, so he instinctively began tracing lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. She always liked when he did that for some reason.

"Wrestling."

"Oh," Paul said simply, his stare dropping to the floor in silence.

"All joking aside, you really scared me out there tonight. I don't like seeing you hurt like that," she admitted under her breath. "I mean, it was only last night that you were getting all tossed around in a steel cage, and I know it's scripted not to hurt, but that cage is still made of steel, Paul…"

"No kidding," he muttered, throwing a little smirk her way. He grabbed a hold of both her hands because her concern was always genuine, and he knew that she constantly worried about him more than she let on. Even now as he gazed into her gentle orbs, he could sense that she had been pretty shaken up earlier. He never failed to interpret those types of emotions from her stare. "Look, I really am sorry about tonight. I know that at this point I really shouldn't be putting myself out there for no reason, but I did, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't do that to myself, and more importantly, I shouldn't do that to you. And as for wrestling? Well, let's take that day by day. But I'll try, and I mean really _try_ to take it easy from here on out, okay?"

"That's all I ask," Stephanie said, kissing him once more. "I love you…despite your many attempts to give me a heart attack," she whispered against his lips.

"You're quite good at that," Paul commented.

"Kissing you, loving you, or having heart attacks?"

"All of the above. I only marry multi-talented women, don't you know?"

She tapped his nose lightheartedly. "I'll pretend you didn't just make that plural."

"Aw, you love me."

Tilting her head to one side as if the matter was something that required thinking, Stephanie remained momentarily silent before she finally said to him, "Sometimes."

Paul couldn't help but grin elatedly at her response. This concussion was surely a setback, but it would give him the opportunity to spend some much needed time with this beauty standing before him and not to mention their three hyperactive daughters. Sometimes it felt like forever before he got to see them all again, and sometimes it was necessary to slow down this never-ending, wild ride that was his life. He liked to claim that this business was his life, but really, this woman right here, she was what life was all about. If being homebound meant seeing more of her, then he was all for that option. Besides, he was really looking forward to the impending TLC she had guaranteed to provide.

And he just knew that Stephanie would have him feeling better in no time.


	4. The Performance Center

I dedicate this to the bitchiest bitch of them all, CAITLYN, because she harassed me to write about the WWE PC presser, and then she let me run ideas by her, so thanks for that, bitch. Also, it's for Krista, GOOD LUCK TOMORROW, MY #DSB! :)

Anyways, so this one's based on that whole day sort of, and I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it. (This is the first thing I've written in a few months, so I apologize if it's not my _best_ work!) I'll try to update more frequently...

* * *

_**StephMcMahon**__ Stephanie McMahon _

_**TripleH**__ and I with my grandfather, Vincent James McMahon, at the WWE Performance Center #wwepc _

* * *

You could tell she was proud from a mile away – purely by the way she looked up at him, by the way her eyes were bright and her smile equally as radiant. She couldn't stop herself from manifestly gawking at him. Her gaze was just automatically drawn to his face, and hearing him speak, hearing the sheer pride in his tone, made her heart swell entirely with love for the guy. Her husband's vision had become a reality, primarily because he made it into a reality, and now he finally had the opportunity to show off the finished product to the world. (And show it off was most definitely an understatement.) He had mapped this whole place out to a tee, from the steel table, to the gym equipment, to the iPads that allowed you to watch your own promos. Everything was so perfect, and the hard work surely didn't go about unnoticed, not one bit. Everyone on the tour appeared to be so mesmerized by the detail, the framework, the effort that went into all of it. However, no one was distinctly prouder than Stephanie McMahon, who just happened to be lingering in her husband's shadow at this very moment.

"I think this is going really well so far," Paul said to her, beaming as the words fell from his lips. His eyes scanned the room feverishly, watching as various executives and media representatives disbanded and dispersed to get a closer look at things for themselves. Stephanie smiled in his direction and placed her hand on his shoulder tenderly.

"I'll have to agree with you there. You really did an amazing job with everything, honey, and I know I've said this a million times already, but once more couldn't hurt, so here goes nothing: I am_ so_ incredibly proud of you, Paul."

Averting her gaze, he lazily shrugged one shoulder. His wife seriously hadn't stopped complimenting him all day, not that he minded at all. In fact, he was rather enjoying it. A tiny smirk tugged at his lips. "Well, it wasn't _just_ me, you know. I mean, yeah, it was _my _brilliantidea…and sure, I suppose I was the driving force behind the entire thing…" Stephanie chuckled under her breath as he continued on. "…and _maybe_ I had to oversee everything during construction…but I think, I mean, I'm sure others had a hand in all this…right?"

"See, that's your best quality right there, Paul, my favorite thing about you. You're so…what's the word for it….._humble_," she quipped, her mouth twitching into a playful grin. "Seriously though, I really shouldn't talk about you in interviews anymore while you're standing right next to me. That already massive ego of yours doesn't need any more stroking."

"But I love it when you stroke my ego, baby." He briefly caressed her dimpled chin with his thumb like he often did, and in spite of the crowd surrounding them, they were the only two people in the room for that short second. It was times like these when their eyes met that they felt so connected with one another on a completely different level, a level that nobody else in the world could ever comprehend. It was like how Paul was forever using that puzzle allegory when discussing the qualities of a successful superstar. In a weird way, you could say they were two pieces of a puzzle. They were different, had sides that were nothing alike, but they fit together just right, they could never be replaced by other pieces, and most of all, they completed each other. "But if you're not up for stroking my ego anymore, there are other parts of me that could sure use that type of intimate attention, if you know what I…_ow!_"

A heavy blush washed over her cheeks as the back of her hand connected with his chest on impulse.

"Would you shut up!"

"That was uncalled for," Paul whined, jutting out his lower lip. He rubbed at the affected area and fought back the all too tempting urge to smile. "Hey, you can't abuse me...there are cameras here!"

"Like that's ever stopped me before," she scoffed, already heading off in another direction, but secretly hoping her husband would follow.

"Hey," Paul said, and he reached out for her, grabbed her by the forearm, and forced her to look up at him, just like she sort of wished he would. On the inside, she flailed (but only a bit) at the fact that he wanted her to stay right next to him, where she truly preferred to be situated. On the outside, she kept her composure intact and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, prompting him to speak up. What she didn't fail to pick up on was his softening stare. "All joking aside, I do have something to show you," he told her, causing that all too familiar giddy sensation to arise in her chest.

"Something to show me?"

He nodded, taking her hand in his. "Yeah, come this way."

"You know I hate surprises," Stephanie reminded him, as if this fact about her could easily be forgotten. When her statement was met with no response, she piped up again. "You're going to embarrass me, aren't you? In front of all these important people, right?" Still no reply, but they kept on walking, distancing themselves even further from the crowd. "Where are we go – wait, are you bringing me into some dark closet? Don't you think we should like, wait until this place has been opened at least a little while longer before we…you know, maul each other? Not that I'm against mauling you or anything," she rambled. More frustrating silence. Tired of waiting, she came to an abrupt halt, therefore bringing her husband to a stop as well. She released his hand, turned to face him, and planted one hand firmly on each of her hips. "Okay, seriously, where are you taking me? I feel like we've been going around in circles for the past ten minutes…" Her voice trailed off. Paul smirked. "Wait, we _have_ been going around in circles, _haven't_ we?"

"You're entertaining when you're impatient," he explained simply.

"You bastard!" she laughed, repeatedly swatting at his arm. "Is there even a surprise, or do you just enjoy making me look like a wandering, rambling idiot in public?"

"Both, actually. But seriously, there _is_ a surprise, and it just so happens to be right through this door. After you, honey."

He was grinning like an idiot, so naturally Stephanie was wary. She glared at him for a short second before reluctantly entering through the door he was holding open for her. Paul stepped inside right after her and rested his chin on her shoulder while she took in the sight before her, wholly in awe of what she was seeing. A huge photo of her grandfather, Vince, Sr., was plastered on the wall, on display for anybody and everybody to see. She smiled like it was second nature, feeling her husband's arms enclose around her waist.

"You did this," she whispered, and it wasn't a question. She looked at him, and even though it seemed like a silly, little thing to get choked up over (after all, it was just a picture), she found this entire gesture incredibly sweet. It meant a lot that Paul would go out of his way, as busy as he was, to do something like this for her, and it meant even more that he respected her family and where she came from the way she did. He pecked her on the cheek to top off the surprise – well, the first one anyways – and called over some nearby worker that she hadn't even noticed standing there.

"Can I have your phone for a sec?" Paul asked Stephanie, and she handed it to him without hesitation. He then turned to the worker and asked, "Would you mind taking a picture of my wife and I in front of this?"

"Sure, not a problem," the man replied.

"Thanks."

"You really are wonderful," Stephanie told Paul as they posed for the picture together. He said nothing, for there was still one more thing he was anxious about doing during the press conference itself. He pushed that thought to the back of his head for now, but it never completely faded. A moment later, the worker was handing them the phone back, and Stephanie couldn't contain her wide, bright-eyed grin as she stared at the photo, truly feeling like the luckiest woman in the world right now.

"Think that photo is worthy enough for twitter?" her husband chuckled.

"You know, it's pretty pathetic that I was just thinking the same thing."

A short-lived silence washed over them, but it was exactly that. Short-lived.

"I think your grandfather would be proud of you, Steph," Paul commented, draping his arm around her shoulders fondly as she finished posting her tweet to twitter. "And I know for a fact that your dad is proud of you. And I may know of this one other guy who's pretty proud of you, too. He's a total stud, by the way."

"I know." And she did.

Giggling, she leaned up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his, kissing him for a few moments of still bliss before they headed off to join the others, still walking hand-in-hand as they did so.

* * *

"We are very big on history and where we came from. And because we do things a little bit differently, just a regular ribbon-cutting really wasn't…ribbons aren't really our thing. So, um, we decided to do something a little bit different, and looking back through history…" Paul's voice trailed off momentarily as he grabbed the tiny hammer and automatically handed it to Stephanie, ever so smoothly if he must admit himself. "Yeah, if you wouldn't mind holding that," he said, his voice barely reaching the microphone. Just like he'd anticipated, she thought nothing of it, so he continued talking. "This is the original ring bell from Madison Square Garden in New York where for us, as Steph mentioned, and the WWE, it's our backyard. It's where we came from, and it is history, and…we are going to ring this bell to symbolize the opening and the start of the future. Today is the first day in the future of the WWE, and I would like to ask for the…" Paul looked at his wife, and this time, he wasn't so smooth. Choked up a bit, actually. "…fourth generation McMahon to do the honor of ringing the bell."

"Thank you," Stephanie mumbled, genuinely taken by surprise, and just…so many thoughts and emotions were running through her head right now that she wasn't sure how she kept herself from breaking down on stage. They were recreating magic, recreating such an important moment in their company's history, and she couldn't have asked for a better person to share this moment with. Sure, taking the photo with her grandfather was astounding, but this was something that not even words could describe. So she said no more. She was grinning at Paul like an idiot, and he was grinning that same idiotic grin right back at her, and honestly, she loved him for it.

Paul wrapped his arm around his wife, pulling her into his side almost protectively, _lovingly_, and together, they stepped forward to the bell. Beaming, Stephanie held the mini hammer up and waited for Paul's cue: "Welcome…to the WWE Performance Center."

_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

* * *

"I'm convinced that you wanted me to burst into tears or something out there today. I cannot handle all these surprises, Paul! I'm an emotional woman, I thought you knew that!"

"Hey, don't blame me for trying to be a charming husband every now and then," he said to her as he gently rocked their youngest against his chest. Paul kissed Vaughn's light blonde locks and smiled at his wife while listening to their daughter's steady breathing as she slept. She'd actually passed out an hour ago, but neither he nor Steph felt the need to put her to bed just yet. They rarely had time together as a family when they were travelling on the road, when they were in hotel rooms like they were now, and tonight they merely wanted to spend time with all their children, awake or asleep.

"I was on the verge of tears…I was not prepared!"

"Why were you crying, Mommy?" Murphy chimed in, diverting her attention from the plastic doll she currently held in one hand.

"She wasn't _actually_ crying, Murphy," Aurora corrected her, looking up from the mess of accessories she was fiddling with. "But Daddy almost made her cry."

"Oh," their middle child said, letting that sink in for a few seconds. Like always though, another question soon followed. "Why did you almost make Mommy sad then, Daddy? I thought…I thought you love Mommy..."

Paul chuckled at her innocence, prayed she would never grow up, and parted his lips to speak, but Stephanie beat him to it.

"Daddy didn't make me sad, sweetie," she explained, sending her husband that look that she reserved for him and only him. "He made me really, really happy…so happy that I sort of lost control of my emotions, you know?"

"I guess so," Murphy mumbled, directing her focus back to the dolls.

"I know what you're talking about, Mom," Aurora stated. "Like how people get all sad-happy at weddings and they cry, right?"

"Exactly!" she exclaimed.

Paul scooted a little closer to his wife on the sofa so that what he said next would be heard by just her and more importantly, by none of their young, somewhat naïve children. "Kind of like how Vince cried at our wedding – multiple times – except it was mostly because he knew I was gonna mess you up so bad that night." His hot breath tickled her exposed throat, creating wonderful sensations inside of her that were too strong to be ignored, and that's when she knew that she needed him, not tomorrow, not in a few hours, but now. Right now, at this very second.

"Hey, girls, I think it's time for bed now!" Stephanie announced out of nowhere, clapping her hands vigorously as she rose from the couch.

"A little enthusiastic about bedtime, are we?" Paul muttered under his breath, outright amused by his wife's sudden change in mood.

"But I'm not tired! It's still early," Aurora argued, trying and failing to stifle a yawn just as she those words left her mouth. "Okay, maybe I'm a little tired," she admitted, making both her parents chuckle to themselves consequently. Mostly, they were relieved that their children seemed to be complying with their wishes and not putting up much of a fight, unlike previous nights.

"Come on, kiddos, bedtime," Paul reiterated, scooping Murphy up in the arm that Vaughn wasn't currently occupying. Aurora, who was getting too big to be carried around these days, slipped her hand through Stephanie's, leaning her weary body into her mother's as they walked at a fairly rapid pace.

"Are you guys trying to get rid of us?" Aurora pondered.

"Get rid of you? Of course no – "

"We're not trying to get rid of you, sweetie," Paul interjected, shooting his wife a quick glance, a devious glint completely evident in his gaze. "It's just that Mommy actually made me a promise earlier that she plans on keeping later tonight."

"Oh, did I?" Stephanie queried.

"Yep, you definitely did," he confirmed. "I believe it had something to do with stroking my…_ego_, remember?"

"Oh, you're gonna get it, just for that, honey," she warned, not bothering to hide the prominent red in her cheeks that was making a reappearance from earlier on.

"And you know I can't wait."


	5. Closet Full of Memories

I couldn't post the entire tweet because links won't show up on ff-net, but if you haven't seen the tweet, she posted a pic of a Trips/Steph action figure set, which was asdjkfjdlsfscxv. Then peeps like Joe DeFranco started commenting on the pic talking about how badass it was for a married couple to have their own action figure set, and I SWEAR **EVERYONE** SHIPS THEM HALLELUJAH. Anyways, so then I started talking/fangirling on twitter with Caty, and we came up with a list of awesome things that Stephanie could maybe possibly keep in that same closet (so thanks for ideas bitchfriend), and well, this update sort of happened.

Enjoy. :)

P.S. This chapter switches back and forth between present day and flashbacks. It should be pretty simple to follow, but anything that's a flashback has a date written above it, just so you know.

* * *

_Stephanie McMahon __**StephMcMahon**_

_Cleaning out the storage closet in my office and look what we found :). _

* * *

"Jesus, Steph, when's the last time you cleaned this thing out? This stuff is ancient."

Ancient. Stephanie smiled to herself. For some reason unbeknownst to her, she dwelled on her husband's choice of word for a moment. It was kind of crazy to think that memorabilia from the year 2000, which in reality wasn't that far back, was now being dubbed ancient, as if it happened a lifetime ago. And sometimes, every now and then, it did feel like a lifetime ago that she was sitting next to a young, arrogant Paul Levesque in that drive-thru wedding chapel. (Stephanie could recall blushing quite a bit when they had filmed that particular scene.) She had hardly known the guy at the time, had hardly said two words to him even, and yet here they were some 13 years later, knowing quite a lot about each other as they cleaned out a closet chalk full of memories they'd shared together – memories that were timeless and that she wouldn't trade for the world.

It was just…really crazy how time flew.

"I've been busy," she laughed, which was a truthful, valid answer in her case. No one was busier than her, with maybe the exception of her husband and father of course. "You know, between my job…working out…taking care of the girls…_catering to your needs_, I don't really have the time to just sit down and clean out an entire storage space."

"That's why I'm helping you, duh."

Stephanie narrowed her eyes at her husband, who seemed to be doing a whole lot more nothing than something right now, not that any of this was news to her at all. When Paul had slow days at the office, his favorite activity was hanging out in _her_ office, which literally drove her insane, much like it was right now. But at the end of the day, she loved her husband to death, and when you loved someone as much as she did, you put up with all of their sides…even the really, _really_ annoying ones.

"Helping me or sitting over there criticizing my organization skills?" she queried.

"Okay, okay!" he cried defensively, picking up the first thing that caught his eye, which just happened to be a brown box that looked as if it hadn't been touched in ages. He held it up for Stephanie to see, smirking at her the way he did every day. "Look, I'm helping, see? Where do you want this, boss?"

She just glared at him, not at all amused.

"Oh, give me that!" she finally told him, breaking the short silence amongst them as she violently snatched it out of his hands. Curiously, Stephanie examined the mysterious box before opening it and pulling out the only item that occupied it. A sheer, white piece of material. That was all she found. The old thing had been locked away inside of it for what seemed like an eternity, but that didn't stop Stephanie from gushing over it as the memories came flooding back to her. "Oh my God, it's my veil…"

"You keep your wedding veil in a closet at work?" Paul asked, scrunching up his face in bewilderment.

"Not my _real_ veil, smartass," she quipped. "The one from when we 'renewed' our vows in 2002. You do remember that, don't you?"

"You honestly think I would forget _that_?"

* * *

**_February 2002_**

She really made a breathtaking bride.

Even if they…weren't actually getting married. Not on this night anyways.

This wedding planned for tonight was just for TV, and technically their on-screen characters were already married, so tonight they were just renewing their vows…on TV of course. Still, he literally couldn't take his eyes off of this woman, couldn't avert his gaze even for a second from the actual most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on his entire life. No one came close to making him feel the way she did, and no one ever would. Everything about her left him short of breath – the hair, the eyes, the smile, and especially the long, overly exposed legs that made him more inclined than usual to do dirty things to her. Well, he'd take that back actually. He _always_ wanted to do dirty things to Stephanie McMahon, no matter the time, no matter the place, no matter the circumstances.

"Hey," a voice greeted him, and it was her, Stephanie, who obviously wandered over to him while he was thinking of…other activities. Activities that ironically enough involved him, her, and a lot of exhaustion that would follow shortly thereafter. "Like what you see?" she asked with a small smile. But beyond the big, bright eyes and the small, seemingly innocent smile, he saw what was truly there. He saw the evil, the wicked, the teasing, the _lust_. And all of it, he loved.

"You look…nice," Paul finally told her, knowing damn well that wasn't the response she had in mind. Certainly, it wasn't the response that she had hoped to hear, that she had longed to hear.

"_Nice_," she repeated, toying and tinkering with the word in her head and ultimately deciding she needed to push further. She adjusted the veil on top of her head and spoke up again. "Well, what do you think of my dress? It's nice also, wouldn't you agree?"

Shamelessly, Paul allowed his eyes to wander over her toned body, over her showing curves, up and down her long, inviting legs, and that's when the desire in his stomach really started to pool. _Nice and short, _he thought to himself regarding her dress. But of course, he wasn't about to say that out loud, for that was exactly what Stephanie wanted him to do, to surrender himself in this little game of hers. Instead, he maintained a straight face.

"Yes, it is nice, but…"

"But?"

"But…" Paul's voice trailed off momentarily as he leaned down, lowered his lips to her ear, and in that next second whispered, "...I think that dress would look so much better _off _of you than it does _on_ you."

"So take it off of me," she whispered right back.

"Believe me, I really, _really_ want to," he said to her, swallowing hard.

"So what's stopping you?"

"PAUL! STEPHANIE! YOU TWO ARE ON IN TEN MINUTES! TEN MINUTES, YOU HEAR ME?"

"Oh, that," Stephanie giggled, hearing her father's voice echo down the corridor all the way from gorilla. She pushed all thoughts of him to the back of her head however and directed her attention back to the man standing in front of her. "So husband-to-be," she began, absently fumbling with his shirt collar, "can you believe that our wedding is only ten minutes away?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I already marry you like…a few years ago?"

At the mention of it, Stephanie's mind took her back to that time almost instantaneously. The beginning. The beginning of their on-screen romance, the beginning of their McMahon-Helmsley Era storyline, and most importantly, the beginning of the real-life, candid love she had developed for Paul. So with that being said, she couldn't help but think of tonight as bittersweet above all else. Tonight was the end. Tonight, Triple H and Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley would go down in WWE history as the couple that almost made it, the couple that could have made it, but didn't. Tonight was a night of endings, a night of moving forward, a night of letting go of what was once good and hopefully finding something that stayed good. This was all part of their show of course, was merely scripted entertainment, and thankfully she and Paul's actual love life was nothing akin to their characters' marriage. Hell, they weren't even married, just dating…but that didn't mean what they had was nothing serious, because it _was_ serious. It was really serious actually, and this was both a wonderful and frightening thing for them.

"Steph?" she heard him say, and then a minute later his moving hand in front of her face became more visible and she snapped out of whatever trance she was in.

"Huh?"

"You zoned out on me there, McMahon," he chuckled, tapping her nose playfully.

"I was thinking about our storyline, about how it's been a good run and all," Stephanie told him. "And about how I'll miss working with you all the time."

"We'll still be working together," Paul explained with a small smile. "We'll just…be trying to make each other's lives a living hell, that's all." He paused then smirked, a devious glint now evident in his stare. "And…we'll probably have lots of hate sex."

She grinned up at him.

"I hear that's the best kind."

"The very best," he concurred, lazily intertwining her fingers with his. "But hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"I love you," he said to her, and it was random, totally out of the blue, kind off-topic, but Stephanie didn't even care. She felt her face go hot and probably red, but smiled regardless – beamed, actually. She loved this man with all her heart, and she knew that he obviously loved her, but every time he told her that, whenever those three words fell from his lips, it was like hearing them for the first time all over again, and completely melting inside was the only way her body knew how to react. She loved him in a way that she had never loved anyone before, and truthfully, she couldn't even fathom the notion of being with anyone but Paul Levesque. Sensing her inability to form coherent words, he leaned down to press his mouth against hers, and in those few moments words were needless. They eventually were forced to sever, and when they did, Paul snaked his arm around her waist and said, "Now let's get this show on the road."

* * *

Paul liked that one a lot, that memory. Well, that entire day had been a pretty unforgettable one really, particularly those few hours spent filming the backstage scenes that would air throughout the course of the show. He and Steph had been all over each other at the time, and when he said all over, he truly meant _all over_. What the audience saw in that fiery, tongue-filled make-out scene was only a fraction of what they'd actually gotten up to in that arena. He smirked. If there was anything about their relationship that never failed to remain the same, even after three kids, it was the recklessness…the carelessness…the doing things in public places that you probably shouldn't do but did anyways because well, sometimes you just needed to. And…well, they always needed to…like, it was genuinely shocking that they were still cleaning out this damn closet right now.

"Okay, what are these even doing in here?"

Stephanie's perplexed tone caused his thoughts to scatter, to disperse until they without a doubt reappeared later on, and his eyes instantly flickered over to where she was sitting across from him on the floor. By now, she had tossed aside the old wedding veil and was disbelievingly analyzing a pair of…crutches? Crutches that were probably his, no, definitely his, because what else would Steph have crutches in her office for? Thinking back to it, he was probably the one that _put_ them in there to begin with, for whatever reason.

"I think…I think those are mine?" he stammered out.

"Okay, yeah, I definitely should make time to clean this thing out more often," she laughed, gesturing to the closet. "When are these from? Or a better question would be _why _are they in here?"

"Well…I'd say 07, considering I know for a fact I didn't keep those fucking things all the way back from 01, and as for your second question…" He purely shrugged, causing Stephanie to roll her eyes.

"You do realize you can't ridicule _me_ for having a messy closet when it's _your_ shit that's in here, right?"

* * *

_**January 2007** _

She hated seeing him like this.

Of course, she'd seen him this way before, just six years ago actually, but that still didn't make it any easier to deal with. Her husband looked so helpless shambling around the living room on those crutches that he despised more than anything, and she was just standing over here watching him, feeling almost as useless as he did right now. Almost. She really couldn't do much for him at this point with the exception of simply being there for him. She would help him when he asked for it. Even sometimes when he didn't ask for it, she would help him, and he would moan about being able to do it himself, but ultimately he was grateful for her because he couldn't do it himself. Stephanie saw it in his eyes when he would mumble his bashful thanks to her, and it kind of made her heart sink. If somehow she could go back in time and stop his quad from tearing, she so would, in a heartbeat, she would.

Hearing something crash to the floor and shatter, Stephanie nearly jumped out of her own skin, her eyes immediately darting towards her husband. It looked as if he'd knocked a frame over when fetching the remote, and now he was shaking his head at the floor, cursing the damn thing under his breath. She frowned and walked over to him.

"It's okay, honey," she told him, rubbing his arm affectionately. "Why don't you go sit down and relax while I clean this up?"

"It's really not okay," Paul muttered. He gazed at the floor a moment longer, taking in the evidence of his futility before his eyes finally met with hers. He looked frustrated, upset, but most of all, he looked exhausted. It had only been a couple weeks and this injury had already taken its toll on him, sucked the life out him essentially. And the absolute worst part? He still had a long road ahead of him, still had many more months of wrecking everything he neared. "How is it okay that you're left to pick up the pieces of everything I destroy?"

"Okay, stop right there," she said, sensing an impending rant. She took a deep breath. "Paul, I love you, okay? I am your wife, and I love you. We've been through this before, remember? You did great last time, and I know you'll do great this time. Just don't be so hard on yourself. It's only been a few weeks, and you shouldn't expect yourself to be able to do all the things you used to just yet. Give it time, baby."

"Steph, I can't even…" His voice trailed off as his eyes wandered the room boundlessly. Sometimes it was hard looking directly at Steph because it made him feel…bad, honestly. Here we was constantly losing his cool over nothing like a crazy person, constantly putting the people around him in a bad mood, _constantly_ needing her to do every little task for him because he was unable to. And what was she doing right now? Telling him how much she loved him, how much faith she had in his recovery, pretty much being the best person ever to someone who didn't deserve it. So yeah, you could say he felt like a little bit of an asshole. "You're right," he finally told her, sighing. "I need to just take it easy, take it slow for a while."

She grinned then poked his chest.

"Yes, now go sit down on the couch, sexy man."

He jutted out his lower lip and whined, "But it's so lonely over there." His eyes lit up at what he said next. "You should join me."

Stephanie looked at the shards of glass on the floor, looked back at her pleading husband, then at the glass, and finally back at her husband. The mess could wait since they were the only ones home right now, but she made a mental note to clean it up before her parents brought Aurora back here later. She smiled at her husband before walking alongside him to the couch. He was still struggling with the crutches, and you could just tell from a mile away that he hated those things so much, from the way he groaned when using them to the way he violently slammed them down once arriving at his destination. Even just now, he carelessly flung them to the carpet before taking a seat on the couch. Stephanie sat down next to him a second later, cautious not to bang into his wounded leg.

"See, now doesn't this feel so much better than trying to hobble all around the house on one leg?"

He merely lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It's nice because you're here." Then, without shame, his eyes travelled up and down her body, taking her in little by little. Look. See. With his eyes. This was pretty much all he could to her now, and he hated that. He frowned. "But it also sucks because you're sitting there looking all hot and we can't even do anything thanks to this fucking leg."

"You know I really want to though, Paul. It's just…I can't risk…breaking you."

"More than I already am," he chuckled.

"Yeah, well," she began, turning and cupping his face in her hand, "I can still do this."

And she kissed him. It was one of those kisses that started out sweet and gentle and innocent, but the need for each other was bound to take over at some point, and it did. So now their kiss was anything but innocent, and their mouths were moving together fervently…passionately…_desperately_. She needed to taste him, she needed to feel him, she needed…well, she couldn't quite have _that_ unfortunately. But if this was all she could have for the time being, she was going to make it worthwhile for the both of them. Heatedly, she threaded her fingers through his long strands, pushing his mouth harder against hers. She'd gotten so lost in the moment, so completely wrapped up in it, that she inadvertently moved onto his lap and straddled him, trying to deepen the kiss. He didn't seem to mind or think anything of it, not at first anyways. He'd even squeezed her ass, causing her to quietly moan and bite down on his lip. But it was just a moment or two later that she heard a wince, and it was kind of a loud wince, so she had leaped out of his lap at once.

"Oh my God, honey. I'm so sorry. Are you okay? I didn't mean…"

"Steph, Steph, Steph," he started, attempting to calm her down, even though the fact that he was still visibly in pain was all but calming to her. "It's okay. I'm fine…really. We just got a little carried away, that's all."

"Right, and that can't happen again," Stephanie stated.

"Well, it_ shouldn't_ happen again, but let's face it, it probably _will_ happen again."

"But I don't want to hurt you again."

"You won't," Paul promised her. She looked so sad, although she truly had no reason to be, and her apologetic stare was legitimately killing him inside. Gently, and this time it definitely was gentle, he pecked her lips and smiled. "We'll be more careful next time."

* * *

"Hey Steph, check out this old thing. Some loser got you a Christmas card back in the day."

Stephanie squinted to get a better view of the red and green card, recognized it fairly quickly, and stifled back the smile that was threatening to present itself.

"Why don't you read me what's written inside?" she suggested.

"Um, okay," Paul said, opening the card and rolling his eyes dryly at the corny pop-up Christmas tree. "_Dear Stephanie. I know we don't really know each other all that well yet, and well, we kind of got thrown into this thing together at last minute, but I want you to know that I really enjoy working with you. You're such a sweetheart, and I'm happy to call you my friend._ Haha, oh my God, this guy just friendzoned _himself_! What a fucking idiot, hahahahahaha." Stephanie fought back her own laughter as her husband continued reading. "_Anyways, I hope you have a great Christmas, Steph. Can't wait for another great year with you. Love…_me?" He instantly looked up at his wife, gesturing to the card in hand. "This is not from me. I did not write this. This guy's a total dork."

"Put two and two together, baby," she said to him, not even bothering to hide her amusement this time. If only the guy knew that he wasn't just a total dork back in 1999, but in 2013 also, and well…all the years in between. He'd always been a dork, even when they weren't married, weren't dating, even when they hardly knew each other's names. That's just how he was, that's just _who_ he was, and she honestly wouldn't take him any other way. Paul made her smile and laugh hysterically like no other person walking the planet did. Even when his jokes were bad (which they all were), she for some reason found them beyond hilarious. Even when his pick-up lines were corny (which was all the time), she giggled and blushed and found them incredibly cute. Who knew, maybe she was just laughing _at _him. Or maybe she just loved him to the moon and back, and this was exactly how love worked. She liked to believe it was the latter of the two. "You know," Stephanie began, "I actually remember the day you came over to me and handed me that card. I didn't even think it was for me until you told me it was."

"Not admitting that I wrote that or anything, but I can't believe you actually kept it all these years."

* * *

**_December 1999_**

Paul Levesque was nervous. And Paul Levesque never got nervous, so the fact that he was nervous now was making him even more nervous. Jesus, look at him, his fingers were trembling, his palms were all clammy, and he basically just looked like a total idiot standing there with that stupid, confused look on his face. And all because of who? Her, just across the room, Stephanie McMahon. He didn't like the chick or anything, not in that way, but something about approaching her to give her a Christmas gift made him feel awkward, inside and out. Perhaps it was because he didn't even know her that well and giving her a gift out of the blue seemed a little…weird. He didn't usually buy gifts for people at work, the exception being his close friends, but he thought it would be nice to give her one. She always seemed a little out of place, like a little bit of an outsider, she didn't know too many of the boys in the back, and he just wanted to make her feel like she was a part of something for once. Stephanie was always nice to him, always willing to go the extra mile for him, and once you got past the whole boss' daughter thing, she was a pretty cool person to a hang out with. So sue him for being a nice person every now and again.

"Hey bro, what are you sticking around for?"

Paul cringed. Honestly, Sean Waltman was the last person in the world he wanted to run into right now. The guy would give him endless crap for getting Steph a gift, and that was something he did not want to deal with. It wasn't that he couldn't take the crap (because he could, the same like he could dish out). It was just that he didn't want his friends harassing Stephanie after the fact because well, he cared about her in this weird, sort of protective way. He loved his best friends like brothers, but he wasn't blind. He was fully aware that they weren't exactly the nicest people, especially when it came to women.

"Just waiting to talk to Steph about our storyline," he replied.

"What's that?" his friend asked, pointing to the gift bag he was trying to nonchalantly hold behind his back.

"It's noth…"

"Wait, is that for Steph?!" Paul just glared at him, which made the answer more than obvious. "It _is _for Steph!"

"Would you keep it down, asshole!" he muttered. "I don't need the entire world knowing, okay? I didn't even need you knowing."

"Hey, don't worry about it, dude. I'll respect your privacy and all, and I'll respect the fact that you have a thing for Steph. It's really not a big deal…I mean _look _at her, I'd tap that ass any day of the week!"

"First of all, you saying things like that is the exact reason I didn't need you knowing about the gift, and second of all, I do not have a thing for Stephanie McMahon, end of story," Paul told him.

"Okay, well you better figure out how the fuck you feel about this chick because here she comes right now!" And with that being said, Sean vanished, but Paul was pretty sure he wished him luck or something before he left. Who knew, he wasn't even paying attention to Sean anymore. Stephanie was only a few feet away from him, and now that she was here, right in front of him, he didn't feel so nervous anymore. Her smile was sort of making him melt, and this feeling wasn't nervousness or anxiety, nothing of the sort. This feeling was…something weird. And he couldn't deny, not even to himself, that he liked this feeling of weird. He liked it a lot.

"Hey, I just thought I'd wish you a Merry Christmas before I headed out of here," Stephanie said, breaking the silence.

Paul didn't really know what to say, what to do, so he simply held out the gift bag with the card inside and grinned at her like an idiot. Reluctantly, Stephanie took the bag, but only because he was holding it out for the taking, and she consequently wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

"Wait, um…is this for me?" she finally asked him, hating to sound rude, awkward, or an awful combination of the two.

"Well, I did just give it to you," Paul quipped. "Merry Christmas, Steph."

"Oh…wow, thank you…thank you so much. I really wasn't expecting to get anything from anyone. Now I feel bad that I didn't get you anythi…"

"No, don't feel bad. How about you just give me a hug and we'll call it even, okay?"

"I think I can live with that," Stephanie told him, giggling.

And as they embraced, as their arms wrapped tightly around each other, as their bodies were pressed together for a few short moments, Paul felt that feeling of weird again, only this time it was more prominent. Stronger.

_Weirder._

But hey, love was weird.

* * *

"I still don't think I wrote what's in that card, Steph," Paul explained. He paused for a few seconds because she was cocking her head to one side almost as if that was her unspoken disagreement. "It's not possible. I'm not _that_ kind of dork! And…and you know what, you have no proof, woman!"

"Oh, just drop it already, babe," Stephanie laughed. If she didn't bury this now, she'd never hear the end of it, and they still had a whole closet of stuff that she would like to go through before the next century arrived. "You can believe what you want to believe, and I'll believe what I know is the truth, okay?"

"Whatever, Steph," he muttered. Paul then resumed scanning the floor for other things that he might find amusing, but his eyes landed on something that was actually more awesome than amusing. "Hey, woah, hold the phone, why has this been locked away for so long?"

"Why has what been locked away?" Stephanie asked, and so her husband subsequently held up the Triple H and Stephanie McMahon action figure set, staring at her accusingly. "Oh, I don't know, people just put stuff on my desk and it sort of ends up in there. Or in some cases, people just put stuff right in my closet without my consent whatsoever." Her eyes automatically flickered to the crutches lying on the floor then back to his face.

"I'm being serious here, Steph! These things have real value…I mean, look at us, look how hot our action figures are! Who would not want one of these things, I mean seriously?"

She crawled over to where he was sitting to see what all the fuss was about and took a good look at the figures, smirking kind of arrogantly as she took them in.

"Well, we _do_ look pretty damn good, you have to admit."

"See, I told you. But you know, my main concern is, and I know you're probably wondering the same thing, can you take the clothes on and off these things?" Paul queried, which earned him a scolding smack to the chest from his wife. "What?"

"Come on, you goof, help me finish going through this stuff so we can get out of here," Stephanie told him, and he could have sworn he saw her wink at him before she turned away from him.

"I like how you think, McMahon."

And he smiled watching his wife head back into the closet, back into their lovely, little storage space of memories, and his smiled widened knowing that this closet would without a doubt be filled with so many more new ones the next time they decided to clean it out.


End file.
